Psychoanalyse my perky nipples, why don't you?
by funnysupernatural
Summary: A Winchester talks to a Prison Psychologist, while waiting for flight Angel to get him the fudge out of there. Did he shoot his father or what? She thinks he is in desperate need of therapy? Psychology is bull. He has Sam for that girly crap. Established!Destiel. NOT A PARODY, but hopefully funny. You tell me. ;)


**Disclaimer; Do I look like Kripke? Nope. Therefore I own nada and make nada for writing this.**

**Summary; A Winchester talks to a prison psychologist, while waiting for flight Angel to get him the fudge out of there. Established!Destiel.**

**A/N: This was me doing my homework, heh. No, but I really should get started with that now… Enjoy this crazy little thing! (it's a gift to a certain someone on instagram. ;) / funnysupernatural )**

Yes, I just shot my father in the head with a .45. Why? Because I had to. There's a background story. Of course there is. There always is. But you would never believe me if I did tell you, now would you? No. I'd prefer prison over a mental institution any day regardless. They are far easier to break out of. Not that I am not in need of some heavy-duty therapy, but honestly, who isn't?

_My Psychologist _this and _my Psychologist _that; that bull's not for me. No thank you, ma'am. I've been dead, cursed, bewitched, possessed, beaten to a bloody punch and the list goes on. Don't believe me? It was the cursed part, wasn't it? No? How about the dead part? Or, heck, the possessed part?

My family life can hardly be called normal. Don't look at me like that; I did tell you that you'd never believe me. No, I don't want therapy, I won't plead insanity. Why? I don't have time for any of your psychology bullshit. I know I'm a narcissistic, dropout, with daddy issues and the heavy feeling of the world resting on my shoulders; well, excuse me, but it kind of does. I don't need your analysis. My bitchy little brother keeps telling me these things over and over. Besides, I'll be out of here long before you've managed to scrape together enough for a trial. How can I be so sure? Let's just say, I have a higher might on my side; _Angels are watching over me._

~O~

"…and the patient is severely delusional." The young doctor finished. Chief Thompson looked her up and down. Not too bad looking, quite pretty, _but what a talker_. He had his man, he had his proof. Thompson preferred when his suspects didn't try anything on the standard psychological evaluation, but sadly, most did. He sighed.

"He seemed perfectly sane when we brought him in, for a guy who just killed someone he claims is his own father anyway. What does this one try to excuse himself with?"

"First of all, his father his dead. Check your facts. Secondly, Mister Winchester keeps referring to himself as a _hunter_ and when asked what it is that he hunts, he says _things that go bump in the night_. He seems unattached to reality in more than one way, and he doesn't seem to realise the severity of his situation. Out of all scars on his body, _new and old_, I have no doubt that he's been abused most of his life. I am positive this psychosis of his is something he's lived with for quite a while, and that his severe hallucinations finally drove him to…"

"_Miss Gray_," Thompson took a deep breath, "The _patient_ has said he was there, that he did it. He admitted and he was fully aware when we…"

"_Chief,_" Miss Gray hated being interrupted, and glared at the man, as she returned the favour. "I am perfectly aware of that, but my patient, and don't you dare roll your eyes at me again, for he is and will remain my patient until _**I**_ deem otherwise, so shut your cakehole and listen to me! My patient will be transferred to the Institution as soon as I've had a chance to call my colleague."

_Feisty._

"He's not insane!" Thompson said exasperatedly. Psychologists could be so naïve!

"He thinks angels are coming for his rescue! Does that sound sane to you?!"

~O~

Obviously, he hadn't shot his father. John died years ago. This shapeshifter had bumped into John shortly before his death, somehow it survived, and after having been Sam, it connected that the man was their father and took his shape. It would have been traumatizing, had he not been quite used to traumatizing things by now. A fluttering of wings had Dean looking up expectantly. Flight Angel to the rescue! God, he was going to miss being able to feel connected to his intestines for the upcoming week.

"Hello, Dean." The deep, grave voice of his angel brought him out of his musings.

"Cas! Finally! I've been going out of my mind!" Dean got up from the cot he had been sitting on and took a step towards the angel. "You are here to get me the fuck out of here, right?"

"I am here to remove you from this place. What does making love have to do with that?" Cas cocked his head.

"Cas," Dean smiled, and winked suggestively. "I'll show you later."

"I'll hold you to it." Castiel smiled, his eyes downcast. A few seconds later they were gone, and the cops were once again left clueless. And Cas was indeed shown. Multiple times.


End file.
